


A Scandalous Affair

by khilari



Series: Blackmail [2]
Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khilari/pseuds/khilari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the events of Blackmail, Gil returns to Castle Wulfenbach acknowledged as the Baron's heir. He and Tarvek have a lot to work out even before the appearance of Agatha changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tarvek stepped into the lab, waved through by the construct assistant waiting outside in case he was required. It was a nice lab, big and airy and not actually locked. The person in here wasn’t a prisoner, although that only held as long as she didn’t try to leave. Right now she was singing, what had always been a sweet voice made powerful by construct muscles.

‘Hello, Anevka,’ said Tarvek.

Anevka looked up from the creature she was in the middle of cutting open and held out a pair of tongs. ‘Come here and hold this open for me,’ she said.

Tarvek came over and did as he was told with an air of resignation, waiting while she removed three differently coloured spleens. There was a sheaf of sheet music set far enough along the bench not to be splattered by blood. Anevka had joined the Castle Wulfenbach Amateur Dramatic Society last year. Tarvek wasn’t sure what to think of that. For one thing they weren’t very _good_.

‘Did you hear about the Baron’s son?’ he asked.

‘I could hardly miss it,’ said Anevka. ‘Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. _Not_ exactly a common name.’

‘No,’ Tarvek agreed. Gil. Back on the Castle. Him knowing was hardly suspicious now, no one would guess he’d known for three years.

‘Have you seen him yet?’ Anevka dipped one of her knives in alcohol and swiped it through the flame of a burner before returning it to its box.

‘The announcement got here ahead of him, he hasn’t arrived yet,’ said Tarvek. ‘I don’t even know that I will be seeing him.’

‘Of course you will. You still need to fight with him about leaving you in Sturmhalten.’ She turned away from her cadaver, regarding Tarvek with the same critical eye. ‘It’s too bad you’re not a girl, really. It would be easier to marry into the Wulfenbach Empire at this point, and I could never pull off the ingenue.’

‘I’m hardly an innocent, Anevka,’ said Tarvek, annoyed.

She waved a blood spattered hand. ‘You have the right air of being ready to repent at any moment. It’s very attractive to Hero types.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Tarvek, folding his arms.

‘You may not be able to marry him, but you could probably take him off guard.’

‘So now I’ve gone from ingenue to femme fatale?’ said Tarvek, casting his gaze hopelessly and dramatically at the ceiling. ‘I suppose you’re really expecting me to use my feminine wiles on Gil?’

‘You’d better use _some_ wiles,’ said Anevka.

‘I don’t think seducing Gil is going to serve a political purpose,’ said Tarvek. ‘Of course I’m going to keep my wits about me.’ As if he’d done that last time he’d seen Gil. Anevka arched an eyebrow.

‘I bet you’d enjoy it though. I know I would,’ she pursed her lips. ‘He likes Sparky girls, doesn’t he? Maybe I have a chance now I’m not in a jar.’

‘He likes strong Sparks,’ Tarvek corrected, although Gil probably did prefer girls. And Anevka was a strong Spark, too, even if she wasn’t quite up to Tarvek’s level. Or Gil’s.

‘See? You should at least have fun.’

‘This does have political implications besides whether I should be sleeping with Gil,’ said Tarvek. ‘The Baron has a dynasty now. The Order’s going to want Gil dead.’

‘Including those still aligned with you,’ said Anevka, pensively. ‘Will you be able to call them off?’ She considered that. ‘Or are you going to? Their reasons do still hold.’

‘Of course I’m going to!’ said Tarvek. ‘Even your plan is better than _that._ We’re passing over Vienna in a few days, I’ll send my spy down with one of the supply ships. He knows how to get in touch with them.’

Anevka grinned. ‘I like your spy. Tell him to come and visit me again.’

‘Last time he visited you you poked him with a stick. I had to pay him double before he’d stop sulking in the air vent.’ Anevka had _never_ been good with contractors. ‘I’ll handle dealings with him myself in future, thank you.’

‘Aww.’ Anevka pouted and Tarvek rolled his eyes at her.

* * *

It was early evening when Tarvek went to his room — still just his, which he suspected had something to do with a lingering distrust among the other students — with a tray of salmon poached in cream because he believed in paying his contractors well. He laid a swatch of rich fabrics beside it and waited. Soon the air vent clicked open and a large white cat jumped down. Tarvek waited politely while the cat ate his meal, afterwards the cat wiped his paws on a napkin and then flicked through the fabrics.

‘You’re paying well,’ he said. ‘Got another courier job?’

‘To Vienna,’ said Tarvek, pulling out a messenger’s pouch and handing it over. ‘You know where to find my contact. Do you have the schedule for the supply ships?’

‘Of course,’ said the cat, slipping the strap over his shoulder. He eyed Tarvek. ‘I get salmon when I get back, too? You’re getting good at cooking it.’

‘If that’s what you want,’ said Tarvek. Paying his spies didn’t usually involve cooking for them, but then they didn’t usually accept payment in fish. His means were somewhat reduced here and he was making the most of them. ‘The message is very important. You’re sure you know —’

‘I haven’t failed yet, have I?’ said the cat, looking affronted. ‘Spying is what I was made for.’

‘Sorry, of course you haven’t,’ said Tarvek, holding his hands out placatingly.

The cat nodded. ‘That’s right.’ He tucked the swatch of fabrics under the strap of the messenger’s pouch and jumped up to vanish into the vent, turning back to pull it shut behind him.

* * *

It was strange to be home. Especially when _home_ should really be the school, a shared room with Theo. Now Gil was the Baron’s son. Not that he precisely _regretted_ it, he thought, looking around the huge, well stocked laboratory (one of two, not counting his secret one which was still where he’d left it). But it was strange not to be Gilgamesh Holzfäller anymore.

‘Ee!’

Something hard embraced him around the knees and Gil let out a small, and less enthusiastic, ‘Ee!’ of his own, before swinging Zoing into the air to the creature’s delight. ‘Zoing! How have you been?’ he asked, smiling widely.

Zoing rested a claw on each of Gil’s shoulders. ‘Misdyu.’

‘I missed you too,’ said Gil, putting Zoing back down. ‘Want to help me unpack?’

‘Yay!’

There were several crates of inventions delivered to the lab — Gil wondered how they’d ever fitted in his room in Paris — and plenty for Zoing to look at, poke at, and get tangled up in. Laughing over showing him the inventions left Gil feeling rather less adrift, and Zoing was enjoying the attention. However, after Gil removed his claw from the Humane Mimmoth Vacuum Trap he suddenly announced, ‘Tee!’ and rushed off, possibly to give himself a chance to recover before poking anything else.

Before Zoing could return with tea there was a knock on the door and Gil said, ‘Come in,’ expecting Ardsley and vaguely thinking that he should have told Zoing he had a manservant coming since he had no idea how the construct would take it.

Tarvek stepped through the door and leant against the wall beside it, arms folded. Gil couldn’t help smiling slightly, even though Tarvek didn’t precisely look pleased to see him. He looked… okay. Much like he had in Paris, better than he had in Sturmhalten under the strain of trying to save his sister.

‘So,’ Tarvek said, ‘the heir to the Empire. I suppose that means your days of scandalous affairs are finally over.’

Gil bit back a sharp reply, because that sounded like Tarvek being supercillious as usual, but… well… ‘Want to come over here and find out?’

Tarvek pushed away from the wall with an eyeroll and a muttered, ‘Of course you’d take it like that.’ He was blushing faintly, the stain of blood evident under fair skin.

Gil stayed exactly where he was and waited for Tarvek to walk across the room to him before grabbing him by the shoulders. ‘Didn’t have to take me up on it,’ he said, and kissed Tarvek hard.

The kiss was warm and surprisingly eager and swiftly interrupted by a claw tugging at his pant leg. Gil yelped and Tarvek looked puzzled and offended for a moment before looking down and becoming a great deal more puzzled. ‘Notagurl?’ said Zoing.

‘Um, _no_ ,’ said Tarvek firmly. ‘Wulfenbach, what is this?’

Gil swallowed, torn between wanting to curl up and die of laughter and embarrassment, and managed to say fairly levelly, ‘This is Zoing, he’s my friend. Zoing, this is Tarvek Sturmvoraus.’

‘Mortee,’ said Zoing, thrusting the cup he had at Gil and scurrying off.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Gil, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding a teacup. ‘I forgot Zoing was bringing… tea…’

He trailed off as Zoing rushed back in with another cup and held it out proudly to Tarvek with both claws. Tarvek took it carefully. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Then raised an eyebrow at Gil. ‘I suppose I should worry about this being poisoned?’

‘Meep?’ said Zoing, antennae drooping.

‘Ah, no,’ said Tarvek quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean _you_ would.’

Zoing digested this for a moment then turned to Gil and said in horrified tones, ‘Upoison _tee?_ ’

‘No, I did not poison the tea!’ said Gil. ‘Any tea.’

‘Phew,’ said Zoing.

‘You poisoned me,’ said Tarvek, taking a sip of the perfectly safe tea.

‘It wasn’t _poison_ ,’ said Gil, bouncing his tea cup from finger to finger nervously. ‘I’m sorry, though. Really. I didn’t know what else to do… I couldn’t let things just carry on like that…’

‘You left me in a warzone.’

‘My father promised you wouldn’t be hurt.’ Tarvek just looked at him incredulously. ‘He keeps his promises!’ Gil added defensively. ‘It was the best I could do.’

‘Not from my point of view,’ Tarvek snapped.

_And what did you want me to do, leave you living like that?_ Those words were a little too much, for either of them. Gil could admit he’d protected Tarvek’s life as best he could, but admitting he’d tried to protect something beyond that… he couldn’t say it and Tarvek wouldn’t want to hear it. Gil shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’ They were both silent for a while, awkwardly drinking tea as if they were at the most boring of Parisian parties. Then Gil asked, ‘How have you been? Really?’

‘Surprisingly enough I’ve survived three years of higher education,’ said Tarvek, drily. ‘It’s been fine. Anevka’s one of the Baron’s tame Sparks now, I suppose you didn’t vouch for her to join the school.’

‘I had no idea whether she’d be safe or not,’ said Gil. ‘Would she have been?’

‘…No,’ said Tarvek. ‘But I could have managed her. She’s Fifty Families, she shouldn’t be stuck in a lab working for your father.’ He put his tea down on the corner of a box and took his glasses off to clean them. ‘My father’s dead, by the way. He was killed trying to escape.’

‘I heard,’ said Gil. Some of the Geisterdamen had broken into the airship to try and free him, they’d been shot along with him. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry.’

Tarvek sighed. ‘I’m not even sure whether I am.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you’re not,’ said Gil.

Tarvek hesitated a moment as if he had something more to say and then shrugged and pushed his glasses back on. ‘How about you? I take it these are your inventions from Paris?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil, coming over to open one of the boxes. It was a pretty transparent subject change, but he was happy enough to take it. ‘Want to see?’

They never did finish unpacking because Gil’s clockwork marimba was slightly out of tune and clearly needed rebuilding with improvements.

* * *

Tarvek returned to the common room and was enthusiastically waved over by Sleipnir. ‘So, how was Gil?’ she asked as he sat down next to her. Around them the other students looked up.

‘He seemed fine,’ said Tarvek. ‘You could go and find out for yourself.’

‘Oh, I will,’ said Sleipnir. ‘I just thought I’d better give you a chance to yell at him first.’

‘I didn’t yell,’ said Tarvek, uncomfortably aware of just how many people were listening in.

‘Uh huh,’ said Sleipnir, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

Tarvek swatted her hand away automatically. ‘I’ve told you not to do that.’

She grinned. ‘Gil lets me.’

‘Gil’s hair already looks like it’s been ruffled by a hurricane.’

She settled back into her seat, smile fading a bit as it gave way to concern. ‘So, you two are okay now?’

Gil had kissed him, which he felt stupidly giddy about, despite the lingering feeling of betrayal. Gil had rebuilt a clockwork marimba with him which he, even more stupidly, felt almost as giddy about. It was the kind of silly, harmless thing that all his cousins grew out of far too fast. Gil was dangerous, Gil had the power of the Empire behind him, and in all the crates he’d proudly unpacked to show Tarvek there hadn’t been a single weapon. It would be far too easy to trust Gil (as if twice wasn’t enough for him to learn his lesson), but he could like someone he knew better than to trust. ‘As much as we can be,’ he said.

‘I know it’s more than that for you, but you’re not the only one feeling like Gil didn’t trust you right now,’ said Sleipnir, expression turning pensive.

‘…I suppose not.’ Except Gil had.

Sleipnir shook off the pensiveness and said, ‘My turn to go and see him. There may be a little yelling.’ She put a hand on Tarvek’s shoulder to push herself up and called across the room, ‘Coming, Theo?’

‘Of course,’ Theo said, standing up from where he’d been talking to some of the little ones, and then bending down again to answer their protests. Sleipnir grabbed his arm as soon as he was in range and Tarvek frowned. He couldn’t help worrying about them, with Sleipnir’s arranged marriage and Theo’s orphan status, far more than they seemed to worry about themselves.

‘So, I suppose it’s because of Gil that you’re here,’ said Zulenna. Of course there was going to be some reassessment of Tarvek’s own status in light of Gil’s sudden rise, but it was like Zulenna to be so blatant about it. She liked to know which box people belonged in and approached the matter without tact or subtlety.

Tarvek raised an eyebrow. ‘You really think the Baron needs a hostage to control the behaviour of his own son?’

‘Hmph. It’s down to him you’re in the school, isn’t it? _I_ thought it was because of that sister of yours and some whim of the Baron’s to keep you here instead of as a prisoner.’

Zulenna and Anevka had a long running and fortunately distant feud — Zulenna disapproved of a Fifty Families construct, even an open and disinherited one, Anevka didn’t appreciate being disapproved of, and neither of them appreciated the other muscling in on their claim as the beautiful princess. Tarvek had long since decided to stay out of that. ‘We’re all prisoners,’ he said, mildly. ‘And my blood is as good as yours, there’s no reason for me not to be here.’

‘You’re never going to rule though,’ said Zulenna. ‘The Baron wouldn’t allow it.’

‘Are you here because of Gil?’ Hezekiah asked. From him it was a real question and not about status. All the students had a feel for the politics of a situation, but many of them could be surprisingly genuine. The answer would have political implications though — Gil likely wouldn’t deny it if asked, saying “yes” would amount to claiming his protection.

‘I just woke up here. No one told me why,’ he answered.

The conversation moved on, to memories of Gil which Tarvek listened to curiously, comparing them to the boy he’d known once and the one he knew now as people around him recalled the years in between. Theo and Sleipnir arrived back for dinner grinning, arm in arm.

‘Party after dinner,’ Sleipnir announced.

‘Gil’s coming over,’ Theo added.

This led to general enthusiasm during dinner and plans to sneak in alcohol being whispered whenever Von Pinn and the other teachers weren’t nearby. Tarvek doubted that sneaking in alcohol and then having a party with it in the common room was really that sneaky, but he’d seen them get away with it before. Maybe Von Pinn didn’t mind as much as they expected her to. Afterwards there was a wave of offers to help put the little ones to bed, of which the most successful was Theo who tempted them there with a bedside story that had several people listening outside the door. With the little ones in bed the teachers were happy enough to leave and Von Pinn had gone wherever she went when not teaching.

Tarvek was co-opted for one of the alcohol raids — it was foolish of him to go along, when his position was rather more precarious than theirs, but he preferred not to draw attention to that, and it was a fairly innocent way to get a look at the layout of parts of Castle Wulfenbach he wouldn’t usually see. By the time they returned there were snacks along the tables and Theo set up with all the alcohol at a makeshift bar. Tarvek dropped his own haul off there.

‘We can’t possibly drink all this,’ he said.

‘I can distil it to less volume,’ said Theo, pulling out some glass tubing and starting to slot it together.

‘I thought you were _mixing_ the drinks, and that’s terrifying enough,’ said Tarvek.

Theo gave him a mildly manic grin, poured something vaguely purple into a glass and pushed it at him. ‘Wuss.’

‘Not before the party even starts,’ Tarvek protested.

‘Live a little.’

‘With your drinks I’m more worried about _dying_.’

‘Maybe I should give it to Gil instead,’ said Theo.

‘That’s right,’ said Tarvek. ‘Poison _him_.’

‘Hey, are you wishing Theo’s drinks on me?’ said Gil’s voice behind him, and a hand landed on his shoulder as Gil reached past to deposit a few bottles on the table.

‘You deserve it for giving him more to work with,’ said Tarvek, managing not to lean into the casual touch. ‘I was expecting you to make an entrance.’

‘You’re just unobservant,’ said Gil. He picked up the drink, gave it an experimental sniff and took a mouthful. A moment later he doubled over coughing and Tarvek smacked him on the back, laughing, while Theo rescued the rest of the drink. ‘You really were trying to poison me,’ Gil grumbled, but he let Theo give him his drink back and took a smaller sip. ‘I need snacks with this,’ he added, heading for the nearest table where he was quickly surrounded by a group of the other students.

Tarvek drifted over a few moments later, not trying to reach Gil, just getting close enough to hear him. Gil was telling stories about Paris, gesturing with his drink, relaxed and laughing. The last time Tarvek had seen Gil around these people they’d been kids, and the only reason they’d have crowded around him was if they’d found some new way to torment him. It was strange to think of Gil as that shy little kid…a shy little kid who had talked Tarvek into fishing hats off Wulfenbach Troops.

‘Hey, Tarvek, remember Professor Ozenbert?’ Gil called.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Tarvek.

‘The university turned down a grant for him to refine his Bone Vitae technique and he animated every skeleton in the biology department and tried to take over the school,’ said Gil.

‘I suppose you saved the day?’ said Tarvek sardonically.

Gil grinned. ‘Not that time. Professor Zubel’s miniature Sparkhounds were released into the corridors. Of course, they tried to hunt the students afterwards.’

This led into a story in which Gil did, in fact, save the day although not by himself, and that led into another story, Gil beaming under the encouragement of his friends. At some point Sleipnir slipped another glass in front of Tarvek. It wasn’t purple, which Tarvek regarded as a good sign, but he still eyed it warily. It wasn’t as if alcohol had been the only thing that led to him kissing Gil back in Sturmhalten. It wasn’t as if one drink, even one of Theo’s, could possibly make him attempt to kiss Gil in front of everyone. He took a sip — it was sweet and burned, both of which were standard for Theo’s drinks — and tried to relax.

It was some time before the knot of students around Gil broke up and talk became more general. Gil meandered his way back over to Tarvek and smiled at him.

‘No stories about Zola?’ Tarvek asked.

‘Shh, I think she got married,’ said Gil.

Tarvek looked at him. ‘You think?’

‘She vanished and cut off contact.’ Gil shrugged. ‘If she’s trying to be respectable now I don’t want to spread rumours around.’

‘…No one would ever take you for a gentleman,’ said Tarvek.

‘Oh, thanks.’ Gil looked annoyed and embarrassed, which dissolved as soon as Z stopped by to ask him a question.

The party broke up when people started to realise they’d have to get up for lessons the next day and drift off to bed. Gil said he’d better go about halfway through this process and everyone was tired enough that the protests were halfhearted. Tarvek hesitated for a moment and then shrugged and followed him out.

Gil looked around at the sound of Tarvek closing the door behind him. ‘Are you going to walk me home?’ he asked, amused.

Tarvek raised an eyebrow, bowed and held out his arm the way he would to a lady. Gil scowled and then his mouth twisted up into a smile and he ignored Tarvek’s arm to throw his own arm across his shoulders. Halfway down the corridor Tarvek realised that Gil was leaning on him slightly, warm and heavy. ‘You are drunk,’ he said.

‘Hm, a bit. I don’t know how you’re not with Theo mixing the drinks, did you even finish the first one?’ He paused. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

‘I suppose _you_ can sleep in tomorrow.’

Gil huffed. ‘I should be so lucky. My father’s inspecting the troops at six in the morning which means I am too.’

‘Will you even get time to sleep?’

‘Nope,’ said Gil cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t need much sleep. Secret techniques.’

‘Oh, really,’ said Tarvek. He shrugged, Gil’s arm shifting on his shoulder as he did. ‘It’s your own look out if you’re tired tomorrow.’

Outside Gil’s door they stopped, remembering what, traditionally, came at the end of walking someone home. Tarvek could feel his face heating up and when he looked at Gil he was blushing too, which gave him the courage to take Gil’s shoulders and kiss him. It was nothing they hadn’t done before. (It was gentle and tentative and almost formal and when they pulled back they were blushing harder than they had after more fierce kisses and didn’t meet each other’s eyes.)

‘I’ll see you,’ said Gil.

‘Yes,’ said Tarvek. ‘I should be getting back.’

Back in the school most people had managed to go to bed without helping clean up, so Tarvek stopped to help Theo put everything away before going to his room. Where a ball of white fluff was asleep on his bed. Krosp opened one eye as Tarvek approached, uncurling so that Tarvek could see he was wearing the messenger’s pouch. ‘You took your time,’ he complained.

‘There was a party,’ said Tarvek. ‘I’ll pay you tomorrow.’

‘Hmph.’ Krosp pulled the pouch over his head and held it out. Tarvek eagerly extracted the letter.

_Understood. No operatives will be sent. — RS_

Tarvek closed his eyes, clutching the letter hard for a moment. He’d have to burn it soon and found himself oddly reluctant to.

‘Good news?’ said Krosp.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘I’ll expect salmon tomorrow.’ Krosp stood up and jumped for the grating.

Tarvek lay back on the bed after the cat disappeared, telling himself he’d get up to burn the letter and put on nightclothes in a minute. He remembered the feel of Gil’s arm around him, Gil’s mouth on his still with the flavour of Theo’s sweet, burning drinks on his lips. He wanted to kiss him again, just go to his labs tomorrow and try it.

By all current indications Gil would let him. He grinned to himself and curled up. Maybe he should.

* * *

Tarvek did go to Gil’s lab the next day and nearly every day after that. Sometimes they made out, until it stopped feeling like a question every time, like Gil might still pull away. Sometimes they built things together, from a fighting clank to a clockwork ballroom. Gil had composed the piece of music they used for the ballroom and, when Tarvek expressed surprise, Gil just rolled his eyes at him. ‘Why are you so surprised every time I do something other than fighting or drinking? I’m not a Jäger.’

‘There are similarities,’ said Tarvek. (There were. Gil had tiny fangs that became a lot more evident when he bit your lip.)

They fought, too. The desire to be together didn’t erase everything between them, and the biggest fight came when Tarvek found his assigned chores were now as Gil’s lab assistant.

‘But why not?’ said Gil. ‘You’re in here all the time anyway.’

‘I’m not in here because you _ordered_ me to be,’ Tarvek snapped back.

‘Of course not! I just thought you’d prefer it if you didn’t have to be somewhere else, it’s not like I’m going to come and force you here if you don’t show up.’ Gil raked a hand through his hair. ‘Fine, I’ll change it back.’

He did and Tarvek wondered, in the middle of cleaning engine parts when he could have been curled up with Gil, why he’d been so determined about it. Especially since he still spent most of his free time in Gil’s lab.

The first time Tarvek witnessed an attempt on Gil’s life he was halfway through affixing a tiny violin to a bronze grasshopper when Gil snatched up a spanner and caught the dagger of the man sneaking up on them on it. What followed bore a slightly surreal resemblance to fencing — certainly closer to fencing than the tactics Tarvek had seen Smoke Knights use. His first thought was that this wasn’t a good way to fight under the circumstances and didn’t say that much for Gil’s ability. His second was the realisation that Gil — fierce, intent, almost happy, much the way he was when he fought his clank, seeming inclined to neither anger nor mercy — was controlling the fight. An assassin wouldn’t have fought like this, but Gil was leaving no gap for a different style to assert itself. The assassin was being forced to parry. Against a wrench.

Then the dagger cut Gil’s sleeve, leaving him unbloodied and unconcerned, but it had been close and for all Tarvek knew there was poison on the blade. He grabbed a screwdriver, ducked under the assassin’s arm, avoiding the dagger skilfully but forcing Gil to redirect the wrench mid-blow, and thrust it through the soft base of the neck. 

‘I could have handled him,’ Gil protested without much heat, as Tarvek pulled it free and cleaned it on the assassin’s shirt.

‘I expect so,’ said Tarvek. ‘But he should have known better that to discount a bystander so thoroughly. Not terribly competent.’

The door started to open and Tarvek hurriedly dropped the screwdriver and stepped back from the corpse, getting a raised eyebrow from Gil. Wooster walked in and gave the assassin’s corpse a disapproving look, more for its being on the floor than for being a dead assassin Tarvek felt. ‘Take that away, would you, Wooster?’ Gil said.

‘Of course, Master Gilgamesh,’ said Wooster, giving Tarvek a nod of acknowledgement before picking the corpse up under the arms and dragging it out. Wooster had come as something of a surprise to Tarvek, although not nearly as much as Tarvek had been to him. Having known both Gil and Tarvek in Paris had not prepared him for catching them kissing.

Gil waited until he was gone before asking, ‘Some reason you don’t want people knowing you can fight?’

‘In my family it’s safer to be useless,’ said Tarvek. ‘Not much safer, but every little helps. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Anevka, at least.’

‘One condition,’ said Gil, picking a fencing foil out of a rack of them. Tarvek tensed, trying to work out what he was about to be blackmailed into. Gil threw the foil to him, hilt first, and grinned when he caught it. ‘Fight me.’

‘What?’

‘You’re good. I want to know how good.’

Tarvek nodded and swept the foil down to guard, feeling his heart pick up. He’d fought before, of course. Against assassins, once his bodyguards were dead at their hands and couldn’t tell the rest of his family. Winning then had been a matter of life or death, now it was only a matter of pride. He wasn’t going to lose to Gil.

Gil fought like a classical fencer. Tarvek fought like a Smoke Knight. There were similarities, for both of them the main object was to _not get hit_ , but Tarvek’s refusal to close and tendency to dodge rather than parry threw off Gil’s rhythm. His fighting style quickly became looser, more athletic. Fencing did not involve pouncing halfway across the room at your opponent, or flipping over and bouncing away from a stroke on one hand. Tarvek was less energetic, but still somehow _not where Gil thought he was_ every time. Gil only seemed to be enjoying the fight more the longer he was thwarted, eyes bright and laughing like a dog halfway through a romp.

‘Good enough for you?’ Tarvek asked, narrowly avoiding a hit to the back of his hand — not a vital area in fencing, but to Smoke Knights every blade was a poisoned one, and Tarvek didn’t have time to think about which rules he was playing by. The whole world had narrowed down to Gil, the slash of the foils, his own body.

‘Brilliant,’ said Gil, and threw himself forward just fast enough that Tarvek knew he couldn’t dodge. He brought his blade up instead, parrying, and Gil leant forward to trap both blades between their bodies. Gil was radiating heat from the exertion, Tarvek could feel it even though they weren’t touching. Then Gil kissed him, diving into it as thoroughly as he had the fight. Tarvek kissed back, until he felt Gil prising the sword from his fingers and wrenched away.

‘Cheat,’ he said, breathlessly.

‘Forget the fight,’ said Gil.

‘You don’t want me to win.’

Gil laughed. ‘I already know you _could_.’

‘You’re the one who wanted… to fight…’

Gil had stopped trying to take the foil away and was instead unbuttoning Tarvek’s shirt, hands sliding inside it as much as fumbling with the buttons. One hand ghosted over his stomach and he bit his lip and did drop the foil, because otherwise Gil’s shirt was just going to stay on and that was unfair. Gil’s hands were sliding around his hips while he unbuttoned Gil’s shirt, and then one of them slipped inside his pants. A surge of pleasure and hunger went through him and his hips tried to grind forward even as he made a strangled sound. ‘Gil, what are you _doing?_ ’

‘What do you think?’ Gil sounded rough, abrupt, impatient, and suddenly Tarvek wasn’t terribly sure what either of them were doing. He knew Gil’s reputation, but Gil hadn’t seemed impatient with the canoodling. Only he was going awfully fast now.

‘Just… stop. A minute.’ Gil’s hand slid out of his pants and the other withdrew from where it had been stroking his hip. ‘I haven’t done this before.’

‘Me neither,’ said Gil.

‘I didn’t just mean with a…’

‘I _know_. Me neither.’ Gil was blushing and the abruptness suddenly resolved itself into embarrassment rather than impatience.

‘Then what were you _doing_ with all those girls in Paris?’ Tarvek blurted.

Gil threw his hands up, blushing darker. ‘Maybe you should tell me! I’m pretty sure you’d be disappointed by the truth at this point.’

Tarvek stared at him a moment, digesting that comment, and then started laughing. ‘You’re ridiculous.’ Gil scowled and folded his arms. Tarvek ruffled his hair. ‘I don’t mind you being ridiculous.’

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘But if this is the first time for both of us, I do insist on doing this properly.’

Gil looked at him, intrigued enough to stop sulking and perhaps a bit nervous. ‘And you know what that involves?’

Tarvek grabbed his hand and pulled. ‘I know it involves a bed.’

They reached Gil’s room, hand in hand and nervous, to find that neither of them knew a whole lot more than that. But they were Sparks. They experimented. Tarvek nibbled at Gil’s neck until Gil gasped, ‘harder, bite me,’ and then arched off the mattress when Tarvek bit his shoulder hard enough to bruise. Gil’s hands were everywhere, fast and firm as if he was trying to learn Tarvek by memory, but while the thought made Tarvek blush the touches themselves only became sensual when Gil learnt to slow down a little, to linger. And then the touches gradually went from arousing to Gil touching Tarvek _everywhere except where he wanted him_.

‘Gil,’ he said, halfway between whining and snapping. ‘ _Touch me_.’

‘I am,’ said Gil.

Tarvek slapped his shoulder, eliciting a soft noise that suggested this wasn’t going to be much use as punishment. ‘ _You know what I mean_.’

‘Not going to stop me this time?’ But Gil’s hand closed on him, tentative but enough to make Tarvek groan and thrust against it. In a spirit of fairness he reached for Gil and was rewarded with a sharp whine. It didn’t take long for either of them to climax.

Gil produced a handkerchief from somewhere and cleaned them off. He was smiling, the big, purely happy smile, that normally went with having just had the _best_ idea. Tarvek smiled back, wondering what this meant, what they’d done. He’d just slept with Gilgamesh Wulfenbach, heir to the Empire. He was probably an idiot.

Gil sprawled back down against him and threw an arm over him, nuzzling against his neck, breath already evening out into sleep. Asleep he looked younger, vulnerable, and Tarvek was awed at the trust he was showing. He petted Gil’s hair gently, feeling suddenly tender towards him, protective as if that made any sense with their relative positions. But even if he someday brought down the Empire he’d make sure nothing happened to Gil because of it.

He closed his eyes, hand still buried in Gil’s hair, as a realisation hit. Sleeping with Gil might, as Anevka said, have had advantages. But he was in love with Gilgamesh Wulfenbach. And he really was an idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

Almost the first thing sleeping with Tarvek led to for Gil was an excrutiatingly embarrassing conversation with his father, who was apparently able to divine the exact moment they moved to actually having sex, a talent _nobody’s_ father should be allowed to have.

‘He wants to marry me off,’ Gil complained to Tarvek, slumping across a chair.

‘Ah,’ said Tarvek, continuing to lever cogwheels into place. ‘I suppose it’s got to happen sometime.’

‘You could try sounding like you actually _mind_ ,’ Gil snapped, looking for something to throw at him and finding nothing he’d actually want to land. ‘I don’t see why I should, anyway. I’ve _met_ most of the girls he could marry me off to and I couldn’t talk to any of them.’

‘You are expected to provide an heir to follow you,’ Tarvek said reasonably.

Gil slouched. ‘I don’t see why. It’s not as if my father’s going to let himself die.’

Tarvek did look up at that. ‘Is he actually immortal?’

‘If he’s not yet, he will be. He’s not exactly good at letting go.’

‘Oh.’ Tarvek considered Gil thoughtfully. ‘I see. That’s too bad for you. It wouldn’t be allowed to happen like that under Fifty Families rules.’

‘Red fire!’ said Gil, throwing his arms up. ‘Don’t talk as if I _want_ him to die. I just wish he’d admit he’s not going to so I can stop being held in reserve to run an Empire he’s never going to hand over. I draw the line at getting _married_ so he can pretend he’s not going to live as long as the Empire.’

‘I’ll be expected to get married one day, too,’ Tarvek said, taking his glasses off to clean them.

‘Even if you’re not inheriting anything?’ Gil asked.

Tarvek put his glasses back on to glare through them, but if he had plans to regain his inheritance he wisely didn’t tell Gil that. ‘As long as the bloodline continues there’s still hope of someone regaining what is rightfully theirs,’ he said. ‘Even if it won’t be me.’

‘So what’s this, then?’

Tarvek shrugged. ‘An affair, I suppose. It’s far from unusual.’

Gil was left feeling oddly crushed by that, considering he should have expected it. Tarvek and his Fifty Families attitudes. Some of the rest of it he said to his father.

‘I am not planning on ruling the Empire forever,’ his father said carefully.

‘You may not be planning on it, but you’re still going to,’ said Gil. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Look, just stop testing me as if you’re going to hand over the Empire the minute I pass the final exam and give me something actually useful to do.’

‘Marrying into one of the Great Houses would be useful.’

‘To _do_ ,’ said Gil. ‘I have better talents than standing there and saying “I do”. There’s no political alliance that urgent, anyway, you just want to marry me off to keep me out of trouble.’

‘Something that is becoming more urgent the longer you spend with Sturmvoraus,’ snapped his father. But he neither did anything to Tarvek nor married Gil off, and the tests started being replaced by actual tasks that were not deliberately set up to measure how well Gil succeeded at them (although his success was, of course, still measured).

It also meant Gil was briefed on situations he went into with his father instead of being tested on how well he could read them. Which was why he was told about one particular situation far enough in advance to decide he needed to talk to Tarvek about it. It was a nice day and they’d been working on one of Gil’s flying machines. Tarvek refused to believe they could actually work, but was still helping Gil install the engine.

‘You’re awfully quiet,’ Tarvek remarked at one point.

‘I was just thinking,’ Gil said. ‘I’m going to Beetleburg in a few days with my father.’

‘Anything interesting?’

‘You could say that,’ said Gil. ‘I’m told Dr Beetle probably has a hive engine. Was he part of your conspiracy?’

‘Why are you the one asking? Normally that kind of question comes from your father,’ said Tarvek.

‘And you’ve so far maintained that it was all your father’s conspiracy and you had nothing to do with it,’ said Gil, sardonically.

‘Which is…’ Tarvek began.

‘Probably false, but I don’t actually care,’ said Gil. He turned away from the engine and met Tarvek’s eyes. ‘This isn’t an interrogation. I’m worried about the town. Some of the stuff we found at Passholdt… tell me we’re dealing with an unmodified engine here?’

Tarvek stared back for a moment and then pushed his glasses up frustratedly. ‘My information is somewhat out of date, but as far as I know he was never connected with anyone. It’s probably an old one from the wastelands someone sold him.’

Gil relaxed and smiled at him. ‘Thanks.’

* * *

Beetleburg was full of people hurrying along in the early spring chill, mismatched army surplus wrapped tight around them. Gil’s father strode through it all with a distracted air. ‘You’re sure Beetle wasn’t part of the conspiracy?’ he asked Gil.

‘As far as Tarvek knows,’ Gil answered, trying to keep the pride at being asked as if he might know out of his voice. ‘He’s been out of touch with them for three years. But if Beetle’s in the conspiracy it’s recent.’

‘And you trust his information?’

‘He’s probably concealing all sorts of things from us, still,’ Gil answered. ‘But he wouldn’t send me into a situation where not knowing something could get me killed.’

Gil’s father didn’t look around. ‘You sound like Bill talking about Lucrezia,’ he said, flatly.

‘Father!’ Gil stopped and then had to run a few paces to catch up. ‘That’s not fair, he’s not the Other.’

‘Neither was she at the time.’

‘It’s not as if Bill was the only one who was…’ Gil stopped, floundering, because he normally tried not to think about that, much less say it.

‘That does not help!’ snapped Klaus. ‘She tried to kill me and probably did kill Bill.’

‘Fine, but it’s not Tarvek’s fault you all had terrible taste.’

‘And your taste is better? You’re defending someone who blackmailed you and who you outright acknowledge you can’t trust.’ Their voices were getting softer instead of louder and Gil was pretty sure the Jägers could hear every word anyway. But, while they were terrible gossips, they wouldn’t use what they heard against the Wulfenbachs.

‘He blackmailed me because he was afraid his sister was dying, it’s not as if he’s kidnapping me and tying me to a slab for fun!’ Gil hissed.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said his father, so drily that Gil turned bright red and spent several steps spluttering.

Some more Jägers loped over to join them before he could recover, one of them saluting his father. ‘Der klenks iz not in good repair,’ he said. ‘Und dere vos another ting.’

‘What sort of thing?’ asked Gil’s father.

‘An elektrik ting. It mek my svord shock me. Blue sparks off everyting.’

Asking where this had been got them an answer, but it wasn’t particularly enlightening. It might be something Beetle was preparing, more likely it was just a thing, of the sort that happened in a university town full of Sparks. In any case they were nearly at the TPU and would find out soon.

Gil managed not to obviously look around him as he went in. He’d never been here before, but his father had, along with Bill and Barry Heterodyne, and he’d heard stories. His father stamped through into Beetle’s main lab, barely stopping to greet Beetle, and his reputation would, Gil hoped, at least conceal how much of a bad mood he was already in. Gil was not in a particularly good mood himself — and his father’s doubts had made _him_ wonder about how good Tarvek’s information was, which was both worrying, since being part of the conspiracy made Beetle a lot more likely to have a way to actually use the wasps, and making him angry with himself. If he couldn’t even trust Tarvek not to put his life at risk directly he had no business… doing whatever they were doing. Having an affair, he supposed, feeling more disgruntled still.

Beetle introduced them to Glassvitch and Merlot, who, from their position in his confidence, probably knew about the hive engine and were thus partly culpable, and their lab assistant, Agatha Clay. Minion? There was a degree to which you couldn’t hold minions responsible for obeying their Spark. Gil’s thoughts along those lines were interrupted when Beetle noticed her locket missing and tried determinedly to send her home despite her protestations she was fine. When Gil’s father intervened on the premise she’d seen the electrical anomaly Gil wasn’t sure if it was because he actually cared, or because Beetle so clearly wanted her gone. More than a lab assistant after all? Or just Beetle being on edge and, commendably, wanting to get an innocent out of the way? She had an air of slightly confused alertness, as if she tried to take everything in but usually found it getting away from her.

‘My son will be examining your latest projects,’ said the Baron, without looking at Gil.

Gil stepped forward, trying to look solemn rather than irritated, and let Dr Beetle nervously show him Beetle themed instruments and clockwork pigeons while his father skulked around the rest of the lab poking at things. Gil supposed that the impression was meant to be that they were here for his education — really, he was not being educated by clockwork pigeons, they weren’t even that good! — while his father was bored and annoyed by the necessity. The fact that he skulked harder in any direction that made Beetle especially worried or distracted was presumably meant to be subtle.

The first one to crack was Miss Clay, who had been looking nervous every time he went towards the storage room and finally let out a little squeak as he reached for the door. Gil tensed — he didn’t think a whole hive engine could fit in there, but there had been a few smaller ones at Passholdt — and saw all the Jägers stand straighter too. A moment later his father was buried in lab equipment and the Jägers had nearly shot a goldfish.

Gil’s father stood up in a shower of instruments. ‘Hold!’ He barked at the Jägers. ‘ _Who is responsible for this?_ ’

Miss Clay clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Herr Baron,’ she said. ‘But the labs aren’t usually cleaned except between projects.’

‘I did think that was suspicious.’ He waved a hand at them, still scowling, and absently put the goldfish on a lab bench. ‘Carry on.’

If that was what she had been nervous about then she probably didn’t know about the hive engine, Gil thought. He glanced at her as they went back to Beetle’s instruments. She was paying more attention to Beetle than he was, charmingly intent and humming softly.

‘Klaus!’ Dr Beetle said, suddenly. ‘You should really look at this!’ Given that he was half way through showing them a beetle-shaped magnifying device (Gil had a feeling he was really running out of things to show them, but didn’t quite have the nerve to suggest they go) this seemed unlikely.

The Baron paused next to a lever on the wall he’d been examining and deliberately rested his hand by it. ‘I confess your projects seem rather low-key,’ he said. ‘You’re sure you have nothing bigger to show me? It would be understandable if a message had simply taken its time reaching me. Or at least forgivable.’

‘Oh, yes! Of course!’ Dr Beetle’s smile was turning manic, sweat standing out on his brow. He strode in the opposite direction from the Baron, muttering, ‘If you’ll just allow me to find this… now, if you wait a minute and you’ll truly see something… startling.’

A wave of heat and light followed. Gil grabbed Miss Clay without thinking and pulled her against him while turning his back to the blast. She squeaked and hid her face against his collar, warm and soft against him for a moment, before pushing him away vigorously and yelling, ‘Doctor?’

‘ _Father!_ ’ Dr Beetle was on the other side of the room, but Gil’s father had been thrown off his feet by the blast and was lying limp on the floor. The two Jägers who had been closest were pulling themselves to their feet, reeking of burnt fur. Even as he bent over his father Gil spared an assessing glance for them — not so bad they’d be vanishing to whatever fate awaited wounded Jägers, thankfully. Gil’s father was burnt more badly, but what had knocked him out had been the concussive force of the blast. It was nothing, Gil found after a brief inspection, that he wouldn’t heal from. Gil took a moment to close his eyes in relief, then, still standing over his father protectively, raised his eyes to inspect the remains of what had blown up.

It was barely recognisable. The wall had blown out around it and mixed with the rounded shards of the engine. The body inside it was charred and blackened pulp, no one could say for sure it had been a wasp queen, except what else could it have been? Gil turned slowly to where Dr Beetle was both sweating and grinning a fixed grin. Miss Clay hovered nearby, hands clasped helplessly, but she wasn’t running. Even though the Jägers had guns pointed at Dr Beetle and she was in range.

‘You,’ Gil began, hearing the word drop into place like the lid of an imobilex jug, ‘have concealed the technology of the Other and made an attempt on the life of Baron Wulfenbach.’

The walls groaned and Gil looked up, concerned that the explosion might have hit something structural, just as Mr Tock pulled the roof off. It was so overwrought he almost felt calmer just for being on familiar ground. He was being attacked by a Spark’s largest and most impressive monster in a showdown they’d no doubt visualised in great detail beforehand. ‘Really?’ he said. Maybe he wasn’t that much calmer, his voice was vibrating with something between Spark harmonics and a snarl. ‘You think you can contain us with _that?_ ’

As if on cue shooting started overhead, Mr Tock swaying and falling sideways with his faceplate cracked. Miss Clay cried, ‘Tock!’ with almost as much distress as she’d called for Dr Beetle. By the time Dr Beetle thought to shout for guards the Jägers were ready for them and it was all over.

Gil took a step towards Dr Beetle feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Such a _stupid_ little display for his father to be hurt by. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘You will —’

‘Don’t kill him! We need him!’ Miss Clay’s hand grabbed his sleeve. Gil looked down into a frightened, earnest face.

‘I-I wasn’t going to,’ he said, feeling off kilter. How was he suddenly the villian here? ‘He will be taken up to Castle Wulfenbach.’

‘No! You’ll never take me alive!’ Dr Beetle sounded like any Spark in a dramatic moment, but behind it there was a note of real desperation. Gil looked away from Miss Clay just in time to see a beetle shaped bomb flying erratically but speedily towards him. He snatched up a wrench to deflect it, not sure whether crushing it would set it off, and it looped back towards Dr Beetle. There was a moment when Gil found himself, too late, calculating angles and velocity and then it landed and for the second time the heat of an explosion washed over them.

* * *

Gil looked at the two people on the floor of the machine shop. His father would be catching up soon — he’d been on his feet, but not up to a chase through the streets — and in the meantime Gil should inspect the people who might be their new Spark. The girl was dressed in underclothes, a mystery Gil dismissed for the moment after noting that they were oil-stained enough that she could plausibly have been working in them. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her slightly to get a look at her face, finding, to his surprise, that it was one he knew. The people at TPU hadn’t treated her like a Spark, but she’d certainly been angry enough to trigger a breakthrough — Gil winced at the memory — even if she’d curled up clutching her head straight afterwards.

The man was unknown. Military, going by the uniform. Gil bit his lip. Sparks could be soldiers and soldiers could break through, but even nascent Sparks tended not to be drawn to the military life. Too bad at following orders and not asking questions. He checked their hands. There was oil on hers and only on hers.

Miss Clay was the Spark then. She looked terribly vulnerable, lying limp on the floor with her hair spread around her. It was a good thing for her they’d found her. They’d shut down Aaronev’s attempts to transfer Lucrezia, but they never had found the machine he’d been using, nor could they ascertain who might have taken it or whether they were still trying to use it. Not to mention the other things that could happen to a female Spark.

‘Hyu gonna stare at de gurl all day?’

Gil jumped and blushed. ‘I was evaluating the situation,’ he said, sharply, and got a widely fanged leer in return.

Gil’s father arrived fuming and out of breath; the latter meant his injuries must have been taking it out of him, the former was caused by Dr Beetle’s death and not helped by having to walk across town while Gil did the chasing. ‘So, this is our Spark,’ he said, looking at the soldier.

‘No, Father,’ said Gil. ‘That would be Miss Clay.’

His father looked at him sharply. ‘Explain.’

‘Oil on her hands and clothes. She was close to Dr Beetle and furious enough with us to precipitate a breakthrough.’

‘Not conclusive.’ But his father stooped, still frowning, to look more closely at them.

‘Maybe not, but we have no good reason to dismiss her,’ said Gil.

His father stood up, wincing slightly, and nodded. ‘We’ll take them both. Once we’ve spoken to them we’ll be better able to judge.’

* * *

Agatha woke up in a room she didn’t know. It was, she thought, rubbing her eyes and trying to swallow away the metallic taste in her mouth, a nice room, if rather plain. It contained a bed, which she was lying on, a wardrobe, a small chest at the foot of the bed and a bookcase with a number of basic scientific textbooks on its shelves and room for more. Despite being decorated in fairly neutral colours there was a gleam to it, as if the colours had all been turned up a few shades brighter than Agatha was used to, and she rubbed her eyes again trying to work it out. Something about the quality of the light, maybe.

A rather more urgent question was where on earth she was. Nothing about the room gave her any hints, but there was a door, time to find out if it was locked.

It wasn’t and she opened it to find Gilgamesh Wulfenbach seated on a stool outside. ‘Miss Clay, you’re up,’ he said, standing.

‘Where am I?’ she snarled at him, anger over Dr Beetle’s death roaring back. ‘What are you doing with me?’

‘You’re on Castle Wulfenbach, and I need to talk to you about that, but perhaps —’

‘You _kidnapped_ me!’

‘There’s a good reason for that,’ he said, holding his hands up placatingly. Agatha folded her arms and glared. ‘But perhaps I’d better explain it after you get dressed?’

‘Ack!’ Agatha darted back into the room and slammed the door behind her. Why was she… she’d gone to bed wearing this and then woken up in the machine shop, what had she been _doing?_ A frantic rummage through the wardrobe and the chest produced nothing. ‘Where are my clothes!’ she yelled through the door.

‘In the wardrobe,’ Gilgamesh shouted back.

‘No they’re not! Or in the chest! I suppose you think this is funny?’

‘Of course not. I really have no idea how we could have lost track of your clothes, Miss Clay.’ There was a long moment of silence from outside the door. Agatha glared at it. She was hungry, filthy, stuck in her underclothes and, oh yes, kidnapped. None of this was improving her mood. ‘Er. Perhaps you’d like to wear my coat to the washroom, and I’ll send someone to find clothes for you while you clean up?’

Agatha hesitated. Walking around wearing only someone else’s coat sounded embarrassing, but she really did want a bath, and he sounded apologetic enough that she was actually slightly mollified. ‘Fine.’ She pushed the door open just enough for him to hand the coat in and slipped it on. It was big enough that you couldn’t tell she was undressed underneath it, she thought with relief.

The corridors were a mix of utilitarian design and baroque decoration which was surprisingly harmonious if somewhat odd. Despite Agatha’s suspicion that Gilgamesh was trying for less populated ones, they were also full of people going about their business and most of those people were constructs. Agatha was quite familiar with constructs, but some of the ones striding along here, deep in conversation with friends, she would have seen in Beetleburg only in her parents’ house after dark, or lurking in back alleys where people wouldn’t drive them away. It didn’t exactly make her feel better about her situation, but in an odd way it made her feel more at home.

‘So, you said you had a good reason for the abduction?’ she prompted without looking at Gilgamesh.

‘Ah, yes.’ He slowed a little and Agatha refused to match his pace, winding up a few steps ahead of him. ‘I realise you’re upset about this, but it really is extremely dangerous to be a Spark without protection, especially a female one. You will be safe here.’

Agatha rounded on him so abruptly he nearly walked into her. ‘Who told you I was a Spark?’ she hissed.

‘Are you telling me you’re not?’ he asked levelly.

‘Of course I’m not.’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Funny.’

‘Oh, yes. Hilarious! When everything I make breaks or — or _explodes_ and I’m not allowed to take exams because I can’t concentrate. When teachers all want me out of their class because it’s embarrassing having to teach someone like me, even though I can see so many things in my head. And now you’re making fun of me instead of telling me what’s going on. Just wonderful.’ Agatha turned and stormed ahead, realising a little too late that she didn’t know where she was going and it would be embarrassing to stop.

‘Miss Clay.’ Gilgamesh ran a few steps to catch up with her. ‘I only meant that either you or the man we found with you must be a Spark and he denies it too. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Who told you —’ One of the students playing a joke? Merlot being unusually petty even for him?

‘No one. We followed a clank back to the Clay Mechanical, it was returning to its creator and no one else was there.’ He put a hand tentatively on her arm. ‘The washroom is here.’

The washroom was equipped with a number of “hot rain engines” which turned out to be an excellent way to bathe. The hot water was soothing and Agatha felt herself calming down a bit. Yes, she had every right to be angry — although perhaps she shouldn’t have flipped out on Gilgamesh over a number of things he had no idea about — but she couldn’t go around growling at everyone who came near her. She needed to keep a clear head. No one seemed to want to hurt her and once they found out she wasn’t a Spark their reason for imprisoning her would be moot and they’d let her go. In the meantime she should try to behave in a way that wouldn’t give them new reasons to want to imprison her. She closed her eyes and sighed out some of the tension. Hopefully her parents weren’t worrying too much, with any luck she’d only be gone a few days.

When she reluctantly shut off the water and got out there was a pile of clothes just inside the door, where someone could have slipped them in without fully opening it. She compared the pristine clothes smelling of soap with the grease and oil stained lining of Gilgamesh’s coat with a certain amount of satisfaction. Even the embarrassing realisation that she had been given pants rather than a skirt didn’t quite mute it.

Outside Gilgamesh was waiting for her again. This time there was a small trolley next to him with a very large sandwich on it. Agatha had never thought of sandwiches as smelling particularly strongly, but the scent of cheese, ham and pickle riveted her attention in a way they never had before.

‘I thought you might be hungry,’ said Gilgamesh, sounding a little smug. Agatha forgave him for that, though, because the sandwich was quite the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

‘So, what happens now?’ she asked, when she’d finished the last crumbs.

‘I show you to your lab,’ he said. ‘You seem calmer,’ he added.

Agatha shrugged. ‘I figure you’ll let me go when you realise I’m not a Spark.’

‘If you’re not a Spark, then of course,’ he agreed.

‘I think I’d _know_ if I was,’ said Agatha. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to create things.

They walked along, Gilgamesh pointing things out to her, like the recreation rooms and canteen. ‘Although you can ring for someone to bring you food,’ he added. ‘Or if you don’t ring for long enough someone will bring some anyway.’

‘That’s standard with Sparks, is it?’ said Agatha. She was more used to being on the other side of that interaction.

‘Oh, yes. Last time we let one get too hungry he invented an infinite omelette machine.’ With that Gilgamesh strode ahead of her and threw open a door. ‘This is your new lab.’

‘Oh!’ It was huge. Racks of tools, sets of lockers, a mysterious vat of bubbling green stuff, a steam generator, gleaming glassware on shelves. Agatha stepped inside and picked up a steam distillation head, then put it down and drifted over to look at the tool rack. Excellent variety, excellent make too, the Baron didn’t give his Sparks cheap equipment. ‘What am I meant to be doing?’ she asked, feeling a little awed.

Gilgamesh smiled at her, spreading his hands to indicate the lab, looking delighted with her reaction. ‘Anything you like. My father likes to get a baseline for what a Spark can produce without outside influence before directing them.’

Agatha swallowed. ‘Is he going to come and see?’

‘He would have been here now if Dr Merrliwee hadn’t won that argument. For now I’m reporting to him.’

Agatha looked around. It was a really _nice_ laboratory. Which was intended for a Spark. It wasn’t as if she’d be using it under false pretences, though, she had _told_ Gilgamesh she wasn’t a Spark. The Baron couldn’t possibly be angry with her for trying to build something and when would she get another opportunity like this? Opening drawers at random as she thought suddenly brought her across a set of tiny, beautifully made cogwheels, such as might be found in a watch. She found her eyes skipping from one to another, tracing how they might fit together. It had never worked before, but she could _try_.

Humming softly to herself, Agatha started to lay the cogwheels out on a bench.


End file.
